The Powers of a Frenchman
by bittterblueyes27
Summary: Britian is suffering through the pains of war. Every hit and blow that comes to be upon his men comes tenforth on him. Will France be able to help ease his pain? Human names used. DISCLAIMER:I OWN NOTHING, PEOPLE! Though I wish I did...


It was too horrible.

War, guns, blood, everywhere. And with each man killed, another shot of pain coursed through his body. He could feel everything, the aching of running legs, the cuts, the stabs. A splitting headache formed, like someone stabbing his forehead with a knife, and basically, that is what was happening.

His body was on fire, everything aching, sore, bruising, breaking, shattering, he could feel it all. He was so numbed by the fires of pain, he couldn't move. He had managed to get away from the battle once the pain started, and he had collapsed on an alley way wall, feeling a stab to the stomach.

He was perfectly fine, in all the senses. He wasnt actually bruising or anything, but he could FEEL everything that his men faced. He didn't know why, either, that this only happened this one time. He could fight mercilessly, usually. But this time was different.

Perhaps it was because he had fully gained the 'Sight' that allowed him to see his faire (faire, fairy, however you say it) friends, along with others.

He gasped, groaning and clutching himself in the stomach. Another wave of fire shot through him, making him cry out. Maybe the real reason way because this war was against an old enemy. More like a frienemy. A friend and an enemy.

He coughed, blood and saliva trickling down his chin. He fell over, onto the floor, no longer against the wall. He cried. The pain was so intense. Withering in his pain, he didn't hear footsteps running up to him.

"I see you aren't dead, Oui?"

"Go...to...hell, bloody wanker!" He breathed through his fits of pain.

"Non, I will not when you are here, _Angeleterre." _

_"_I've told you not to- GAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!"

He thrashed wildy, squirming and crying.

"Arthur!" The older man knelt down to him, cupping his face in his hands.

"Arthur! Angeleterre, what's wrong, mon Cher?" Arthur gasped.

"I c-can feel it all... The pain of my men. If they are... Stabbed, I am too. If their arm is b-broken, mine feels it as well-"

He hissed. Clutching himself and the elder male swooped down and embraced him. He brought Arthur's face to his and kissed his tears away.

"I will make your pain seize, mon Cher."

He licked the drool off of the others chin, barley flicking his tounge out at all. He brought Arthur's face to his.

"A-aren't you supposed to... Kill me? I-Im your e-enemy... After all, Francis."

"I cannot, Angeleterre. Je t'aime. I will help you."

He hugged the Brit, nuzzling his neck, distracting him from his pain.

"Je t'aime. Je t'aime, Angeleterre. Je t'aime de tout mon coeur et je ne vais pas te laisser partir (I love you. I love you, Britian. I love you with all my heart and I won't ever let you go.). The Brit still cried as war raged on, his body was very, very numb, but the pain was still piercing.

He groaned again, his breath coming out shaky. Francis kissed his tears away, going from one eye to the other and just barley placing his soft lips on Arthur's smooth skin to kiss away the droplets that formed in his eyes.

Soon, though, he was kissing all over the Brit's face, his forehead, his soft, baby-like cheeks, his nose, his jaw - line, and finally, a kiss on each bushy eyebrow. The whole time, he barley touched his lips to his skin, afraid of the Brit rejecting him.

When he kissed each eyebrow, Arthur pulled back and looked at Francis.

Francis cupped one of Arthur's cheeks in his hand; Arthur was looking at him in surprise, he reached up to touch one of his eyebrows before crying out again, collapsing in Francis' arms.

"Angeleterre, let me help you..."

"How? You can't... do anything about... This."

He was referring to his pained state as he let Francis hold him, what with he being to numb to do anything, anyway.

"I can, Angeleterre."

Francis leaned down and kissed the crying, withering, pain-shot Brit in his arms, gently pressing his lips against Arthur's, just barley so, that there was a gap of cold air where their lips curved in, his beautiful sapphire eyes closed.

His mouth, one of the only un-numb muscles in his entire body, stayed still for a moment as Francis kissed him. He loved this man, but he hated him as well. He realized the pain was a bit diluted until he thought about it, then it all came surging back.

He gasped, breaking the kiss, and whimpered. He started to twitch.

"Angeleterre. Don't think about it. Look at me."

Arthur did as he was told to. Francis was still cradling him in his arms, the sounds of war could be heard.

"Do not think about the pain, think about me."

"It hurts..." he whined as he completely slumped against Francis, slightly snuggling him as he did so.

"I know, mon Cher. I will make it go away. Je t'aime, Arthur."

He kissed him again, a bit less gentle than before. And this time, the Brit kissed back. Their lips moved softly and gently between each others, Francis running his fingers through the others straw-like hair.

Francis pulled him onto his lap, and pressed his own back against the wall of the alley. He broke the kiss, and leaned down and began to kiss Arthur's neck gingerly. The Brit gasped, but softer, lighter this time. It wasn't a gasp of pain, but one of pleasure. The Frenchman continued to nuzzle and kiss his neck, making sure to NOT make any marks because the Brit would surely kill him later if he did.

Arthur gained enough strength to throw his arms around Francis, and deepened the kiss, just a little, though. He pressed harder, smashing their lips together and their hands roamed. Francis ran his fingers through the Brit's hair, pulling at it slightly ao it would tickle him. Arthur put his hands on Francis chest, moving them around his body slowly, talking in every inch he could.

He pulled back, startling the Frenchman, whose lips were shaped like a fishes and his eyes full of question.

Arthur pulled himself close to Francis, placing his head in the crook of Francis' neck.

"I... Love you too, Francis." He said with a blush spreading across his cheeks.

Francis layed his head gently on Arthur's, his nose planted in his spikey, blonde hair.

He smelled like freshly exploded gunpowder, tea and scones. He kissed the top of his Angeleterre's head. The Brit sighing.

He smelled like roses. VERY much like roses, and the slightest trace of wine. He also smelled blood, that one iron-y smell mixed in with the roses and wine. He kissed Francis neck, while he kissed the top of his head.

Arthur sighed, and pulled away from Francis.

Francis' eyes were full with worry, and confusion.

"You did help. I don't hurt anymore." While this was true, he was still pretty weak, so he leaned back into the Frenchie's arms once more.

"Good." He leaned down to kiss him again. Arthur turned around and cupped Francis' face, kissing him passionately. He pulled away to lick his lips. He leaned forward again to lick Francis' lips before kissing him again, poking Francis' lip with his tounge as he did so.

Francis excepted and their tounges danced with each other in their interlocked mouths, opening their lips wider. Francis gained dominance as he explored Angeleterre's mouth. Arthur slid his hand over so it was also being brushed against Francis' soft waves of hair. Francis wrapped his arms around Arthur's waist, pulling him closer, if possible.

Arthur pulled back, loking at Francis again.

"What is wrong, Arthur?"

"I just... Like looking at your eyes is all." He said with a blush.

"Good. I like to look at your face. Its so handsome."

His blush darkened and they stopped to look at each other. They examined each others facial features, eyes, noses, hair, ears, mouths, lips...

Pretty soon they were kissing again. Hands running over everything they could (except for PRIVATE areas, children), Francis broke off when they needed air and leaned over to Arthur's ear, whispering,

"Je t'aime, Angelettere."

"I love you as well, frog." There was a pause before Francis jumped up, carfully laying Arthur on his feet,

"OH MERDE! THE WAR!"

"OH BLOODY HELL!"

They both raced to stop the war and to call it off.


End file.
